


unexpected

by Crimson_Voltaire



Series: Kinktober 2017 [7]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Choking, Grinding, M/M, Non-Consensual Breathplay, Non-Consensual Touching, Older Gellert, Police Officer Graves, Teasing, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Threats of Violence, Young Graves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2019-01-15 06:11:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12315336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crimson_Voltaire/pseuds/Crimson_Voltaire
Summary: Pressed up against his cruiser, a hand at his throat, Junior Officer Percival Graves has himself in a situation he doesn't know how to deal with.





	unexpected

**Author's Note:**

> My first time writing something like this! Please let me know what you think of it!

**October 9th - Asphyxiation**   
  
Graves finds himself slammed up against the hood of the car. Pain blossoms across his spine, the finder biting into the muscle of his back. He’s sure there will be a bruise there tomorrow. A big hand, rough with callouses and scars, curls around Graves’ throat. He knows he’s fucked.   
  
“What is _with_ you?” The man hisses, all angry, mismatched eyes and the soft slur of a German accent. He’s bleach blond, his hair styled strangely. It’s a face Graves knows – hard to forget. He grasps at the man’s hand, trying desperately to get him to let go. But Grindelwald holds tight, thumb and index finger digging harshly in on either side of his windpipe.   
  
Grindelwald sneers, clearly unimpressed.   
  
“Did you really think you could do it? A twink of a rookie, reckless at that, bringing down us? You should be tucked under someone’s desk somewhere, putting that pretty mouth of yours to good use, instead of chasing something you’re far too weak to stop.”  
  
Graves’ splutters, indignation and panic rising like a bitter cocktail in his throat. He can taste it on the back of his tongue. He kicks out, but Grindelwald just adjusts his grip.   
  
“L-et me g-o.”  
  
The smile Graves receives in return is cold and cruel, the man’s mouth twitching upwards beneath his ratty excuse of a moustache. Graves gets better growth in a day than this guy gets in months. The idea fuels his contempt and he struggles harder.   
  
“Ah ah, you aren’t in any position to be making demands, boy.”  
  
The fingers tighten. Spots blossom over Graves’ vision, whites and reds and greens. He knows his brain is screaming for oxygen already, but he can’t breathe – _he can’t breathe_. He’s trapped, pinned down like a butterfly. Utterly helpless. Grindelwald looms close, sneering; the spice of his cologne is expensive, his body warm against Graves’, so warm that – _fuck_.   
  
Graves’ cock twitches in his uniform pants, the blood not currently trapped in his head rushing south. Grindelwald presses even closer and his eyes widen marginally when he realizes.   
  
“My my, what a _naughty_ boy you are.”  
  
Graves whines. The hand loosens just enough and he takes in great gasps of air, his lungs shrieking and burning like he’s inhaled chlorine. Graves kicks out again and claws at the hand, pretty sure he’s leaving scratches.   
  
“You’re a sick sunnuva-“  
  
“Ah ah,” Grindelwald repeats, readjusting his grip before Graves fully has his breath back. A knee pushes between his legs, grinding against his thickening erection, teasing him. The spots come back, little tiny starbursts which float across Graves’ vision. Endorphins rush through him, his heart hammering overtime. Everything is a mix of messy signals, instincts screaming to fight, to flee, to get out of here, body moaning for him to stay because it feels so good.  
Graves grits his teeth against the coming storm, trying to thrash again. It only serves to grind his cock into the man’s knee. Sensation rockets up his spine and his hips buck without his consent. The fingers loosen again; Grindelwald’s grin is wolfish and mean.   
  
“Imagine that,” he croons, “Junior Officer Percival Graves gets off on being choked by another man. I’m sure the boys would _love_ to know about that.”  
  
Grindelwald throws him with a flick of his wrist, sending the younger man crashing to the gritty asphalt. Immediately, Graves’ hands are at his throat; he’s gasping and coughing and groaning, dazed. For a moment, there’s only that and the sound of retreating footsteps, and the relief that comes with near death experiences. Then, Graves pushes himself upright and stumbles to his car.   
  
He feels at his neck, wincing at the tenderness. Graves knows there’s going to be bruises tomorrow – Graves knows there’s going to be questions tonight. He leans back against the side of his cruiser, catching his breath. When his head falls back against metal, starbursts flash across his vision again.   
  
“Fuck,” he whispers, “ _Fuck_.”  
  
Graves’ dreams that night revolve around a powerful hand on his throat, putting pressure on his windpipe as he’s bent over his cruiser and taken. When he wakes up, sticky and aching and sore, he wonders what the hell he’s gotten himself into.   


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are appreciated!


End file.
